Little Red Dress (T-rated version)
by Labyrinth01
Summary: Fritz misbehaves, and Brenda just doesn't get jealous...she gets even. A sexy, silly, crazy Brenda and Fritz fic. There is also an M-rated version of this story.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **I wrote part of this story about 2 years ago, and finally decided to take a break from Welcome Her Home with Red Roses to finish it. It is a "M" story if ever there was one, but I edited it down so there could be a T version too. (This is sort of T-plus; I did my best). The M version is published here too.

I give many thanks to **LadyFey**, who edited this story. She's not just an editor, she's a cheerleader, a support system, and a friend.

**Please read ManateeMama's story "The Seer." It's a multi-chapter Brenda and Fritz fic, and it's fab, much better than this nonsense.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Fritz was in trouble. He had committed a crime, a moderately severe one in Brenda's book. And she was mad at him. But the punishment she meted out, in Fritz's opinion, vastly outweighed the offense.

She wore The Dress to work. _The Dress._ When she knew he would be there. All day. With her.

She had gone too far this time.

Brenda bent over Provenza's desk right as he walked in, right in his line of sight, the oversized black blazer she wore over The Dress pulling away from her body and doing little to disguise the fact that the red garment underneath hugged every curve and showed off her figure beautifully. He pulled his eyes away only to be drawn back to her shapely legs accented by three inch black pumps, and he remembered how she always wore thigh-high stockings and a tiny thong with The Dress because it was so form-fitting that any little bit of undergarment would show. He cursed under his breath and Lt. Provenza looked up from the case file Brenda was showing him to raise an eyebrow.

"You got a problem, Agent Howard?" Provenza was next to Brenda and wasn't getting the eyeful Fritz was.

Fritz caught the smirk on his wife's face and, without answering, turned away. He had to get away from her, fast, before he embarrassed himself.

His mind turned to the previous night. They hadn't seen each other all day, and met at a casual Italian restaurant for dinner. While they were waiting for their entrées, Brenda was chatting about a funny story Charlie had told her via e-mail when something, or rather someone, caught Fritz's eye.

A beautiful woman had entered the restaurant and was following the hostess to be seated. LA was full of beautiful women, but this one was different. She had long auburn hair that hung nearly to her waist, and pale alabaster skin that glowed around striking blue eyes. She was tall, much taller than Brenda but not model tall, with the curves of a real woman, her full breasts barely contained in what looked to Fritz like a bustier worn under a leather jacket. A long leather skirt with a slit and high heeled boots completed her look, and despite her provocative clothing, there was something about her that looked innocent and natural. Maybe it was because she wasn't a bottle blonde or starved model-thin, but she had an engaging beauty that was different than other LA women.

When he was finally able to pull his eyes away from her, Brenda was staring right at him. With daggers in her eyes.

"See something you like, Fritz?" she said, icicles dripping off each word.

_Oh crap_. He had just touched Brenda's jealous nerve, and he didn't know how he was going to get out of it. _I'll pretend nothing happened_, he thought desperately. _I'll just slide right back into the conversation and spend the rest of the evening being as nice to her as I can, and maybe she won't castrate me when I'm asleep tonight._

"So, Charlie was telling you," he prompted her, casually picking up his water glass and taking a sip, trying to strike a pose of normality.

"You would have known exactly what Charlie told me if you were listenin' and not starin' at that woman," Brenda spat. "I didn't know you were into redheads, Fritz. Should I talk to my stylist next time I get my hair done? Or would a wig do?" Her pupils had constricted into pinpoints.

"Sorry, Brenda, I got distracted." He started to feel desperate. He had no idea how to talk his way out of this one, not when Brenda so easily flew into a jealous fit.

"You sure did, Fritz. You got distracted by your crotch."

As the word "crotch" hung in the air like an accusation, the waiter came with their meals. He looked at Brenda strangely, but she didn't care he had overheard her. She was way too busy fuming. Fritz was hoping the food would distract her and tried to make small talk about their meal, the restaurant, pasta in general, but Brenda would have none of it. She said nothing else to him, her lips set in a straight white line, silently stabbing her cannoli.

Fritz admitted he's a red-blooded American male. He liked looking at attractive women, even though he's married to the love of his life who is sexy as hell and loves to go to bed with him. What man doesn't? He would never cheat on Brenda, not in a million years. She was everything to him. But like his partner Jerry said, he was married, not dead. A hot woman was going to catch his eye. It just happened. And it wasn't unusual for women stare at him and occasionally flirt, and he always felt very flattered, glad to know women found him good-looking even though he wasn't as young as he used to be. Men certainly paid attention to Brenda, especially when she was dressed up, and yea, that made him a little jealous, but he lived with it. And when a handsome man crossed Brenda's path, well, he's seen her check out a guy or two, so she's not perfect. People will always be attracted to other people, it's just human nature. Can't she understand that?

She can't. Brenda was always jealousy prone, and if she caught another woman looking at Fritz, she gave her the hairy eyeball until the other woman got the message loud and clear. And when she caught Fritz looking at another female, which didn't happen too often because he tried to be discrete, her reaction ranged from cold fury to a fit of insecurity, or a mixture of both.

It might have been okay, Brenda might have thawed if he had showered her with attention the rest of the night, if there was only one infraction. But he was a repeat offender.

Halfway through their stony meal, the redheaded women made her way past Brenda and Fritz, probably to go to the bathroom. For some reason-and Fritz can't figure out why-she sought him out with those mesmerizing blue eyes. She looked right at him and gave him a slow, sexy smile, her face lighting up. As she passed their table and he was forced to break eye contact, he caught a whiff of her perfume, which brought to mind warm cinnamon cookies. He turned slightly to watch her pass, her long red hair swaying as she moved.

The spell was broken by the sound of Brenda's open palm slamming down on the table. Startled, he turned around, only to be confronted by her fury face.

"I have had it," she said, now speaking in her cold, deadly voice. "You have disrespected me enough for one evenin'.'" She reached for her purse and pushed her chair back from the table.

He grabbed her sleeve. "Brenda, honey, please don't leave." He knew the extent of the damage and grasped at anything to try and fix it. "You haven't finished your wine. And you barely touched your meal. Please stay, Brenda." He wasn't above begging.

"I am not sitting here another minute with you," she spat, and a nearby table turned to look at them. "Plus, you can stare at that woman's ass as long as you want to when she gets back from the bathroom, because you won't have your wife here. Not that that seems to make a difference to you anyways." She yanked free of his grasp.

Fritz flushed with embarrassment, hating that they were making a scene. "Seriously, Brenda, we can't leave yet. We have to pay, and you drove me to work today because my car's in the shop, remember?"

She stood up and slung her large bag over her shoulder. "You can walk home for all I care," she said, and turned around and stormed out. By this time, several people had become interested in their argument and were looking at Fritz, the only one left at the table. He mustered what dignity he could and waved down his waiter to get a doggie bag and the check.

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><p>He got home an hour and a $50 cab ride later, angry at Brenda for stranding him at the restaurant, but angrier at himself. He knew better. He knew much, much better. Under any circumstances, it was disrespectful to ogle another woman in front of your wife. And disrespecting Brenda was something he never did. Brenda wasn't an ordinary woman. She came with a complicated set of instructions, and she had "Fragile" stamped all over her. One false move, a little rough handling and she would explode—or shatter. He never knew which. But what he did know was that she was prone to jealousy, and when another woman crossed their path, he needed to make sure to keep his eyes on the floor, or his eyes on her. Not his eyes on the curves of a beautiful redhead.<p>

He was never sure where her jealousy streak came from. Brenda was stunning and had men tripping all over themselves. In DC, she was the hottest thing at the Metro Police, and he had plenty of competition for the pretty CIA officer's attention. Willie Rae said Clay was always shooing off boys when Brenda was younger, and she told him herself that she had plenty of boyfriends at Georgetown. Why did she get so jealous of other women? He blamed Will Pope. Will had lied to her, told her she was the center of his universe, and he was going to leave his wife for her. And he did leave his wife…for a woman he was dating at the same time as Brenda. Fritz thinks this shattered any trust Brenda could ever have in men, and unfortunately, Fritz was suffering the aftermath. Bastard.

The house was quiet when he got home, but he could tell by the cat food in the bowl and the bottle opener on the counter that she was there. And as usual, she had turned on every light in the place. He went in search for her, prepared to grovel. She wasn't in the living room, or the bedroom, or the bathroom. He went to the guest room and saw the door was closed. Brenda was hiding from him. After the scene in the restaurant he was expecting an assault, not retreat, on her part. He tapped on the door and called her name, but got no answer. He stood for a minute or two, wondering if he should leave her alone or not, and laid his forehead against the cool wood door in defeat. He knew that he had to give her space; an apology yelled through a locked door would not be well-received. Reluctantly he turned away and walked slowly into the living room.

All evening long Fritz listened for the click of the door to the spare room, waiting for Brenda to get over her anger at him and come out of hiding so he could apologize for his bad behavior. But she never left the room, not even to use the bathroom, and at midnight Fritz gave up and went to bed. Alone.

Brenda was gone by the time he woke up at 7:30 the next morning. How she managed to sneak into the room, get her clothes, and shower without him being disturbed were beyond him. _Must be her CIA training_, he thought. Fritz stopped by her favorite bakery and bought a conciliatory pastry and mocha latte for her, which he nearly dropped on the floor when he walked into the Murder Room and saw what she was wearing. She looked at him and her eyes said exactly one thing: _screw you_.

**End Chapter 1**

**Author's Notes Part Deux**: This is not the dress Brenda bought in "About Face." You will learn what The Dress looks like, and why Fritz is so fond of it, in the next chapter.

LadyFey commented that my Brenda was really, really jealous. This story is written to be a little over the top and silly. Read it with a sense of camp and humor.

**Speaking of jealousy... **I get really jealous when I see other fanfic writers who get a ton of reviews for their stories. I wonder what I'm doing wrong. Any ideas? It really bums me out. If you want to anti-bum me, in other words make me happy, please leave a review. Thanks so much.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: ** A couple of people wondered if Brenda and Fritz were a little OOC in this story. I say, maybe or maybe not. The fun in fanfic is to play around with the characters a bit, change the scenery and add on or explore different dimensions of their personalities. On the one hand we have my Closerverse where Brenda is having a full-out jealous temper tantrum because Fritz acted like a Typical Male, and then there exists on this board a closerverse where Brenda leaves Fritz and lives happily ever after with Sharon Raydor (not that there's anything wrong with that!) Just sayin'.

There is also an **M-rated** version of this story.

Thanks again to LadyFey for her dedicated editing. You are the bomb,my friend.

Are you reading Manatee Mama's story The Seer? You aren't? Well for heaven's sake, it's a better story than this one, silly!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

The men who stood, and sat, in front of Brenda as she wrote on the Murder Board had no idea what she was barely covering under the long linen blazer she was wearing. If they did, they would all be turned on, like he was since he first saw her that morning. If they only knew what she looked like in The Dress, and what lust The Dress provoked, he doubted they would be sitting there so calmly. Fritz was convinced The Dress had magical powers. It exuded some type of aphrodisiac, not just over him, but over Brenda as well. The Dress was sacrosanct. He thanked The Powers That Be for arranging a series of events—a wedding, a free Saturday to go shopping, whatever impulse Brenda had to enter that particular boutique—to bring The Dress into their lives.

_**Sixteen Months Ago**_

_Brenda passed the wedding invitation back to Fritz with a huff. "Gettin' married on New Year's Eve! That's the silliest thing I've ever heard!" she complained. "The weddin' isn't until 8PM, so it's gonna mess up everyone's plans!" _

_"Well, that's kind of the point," Fritz explained. "The wedding reception is a New Year's party. Besides, it's not like we had any really exciting plans anyways." The groom, Jack, was a work friend of Fritz's, and he thought it sounded like fun._

_"Yes, but I can't go to a church dressed like I'm goin' to a New Year's party! I'll have to change!" She was intent on being difficult._

_"Jack and Nicky are getting married in another part of the hotel, not in a church. So get as gussied up as you want, Brenda."_

_"I don't have anythin' to wear," she whined._

_"Then go buy yourself something," Fritz replied patiently. He pulled her close to him and kissed her on the forehead. "You work all the time and make good money, but you hardly ever spend anything on yourself. Why don't you splurge and go to a really fancy boutique and buy a new dress? You deserve it."_

_She chewed her lip for a second in thought, than looked at him with a smart-ass expression. "You sure it's in the budget?"_

_"Yes, I'm sure, Brenda. Now go, buy yourself something overpriced and beautiful."_

_"Oh, if I must." She reached for her black purse._

_"Oh, and Brenda?"_

_"Yea?"_

_"Pick out something hot."_

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><p><em>If only every wish came true that easily. A few days later, Fritz sat in the living room watching football while Brenda got ready for the wedding. "Honey, we need to leave in 20 minutes, don't forget," he yelled in the direction of the bedroom.<em>

_"Fritz, I heard you the first two times."_

_"That was different. I think then I reminded you we had to leave in 45 minutes and then in 30 minutes. This is the 20 minute warning. It's a whole new announcement."_

_"You're a real comedian, Fritz, you know that?" she hollered back. "Why don't you just sit there and watch your football."_

_"I will, Brenda. For 19 more minutes."_

_Fifteen minutes went by, and Fritz heard his name called tentatively from the bedroom. "What is it? Do you need to get zipped up?" He turned his attention back to the game, hoping she would come to him._

_"Well…Fritz, I think this dress might be a little, you know, a little too much," she answered, her voice nearer. He could tell she was standing in the hallway._

_"What do you mean 'too much'?"_

_"Ummm, see, it's a bit more…revealin' than anythin' I usually wear." Fritz's ears perked up. He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, his whole body swiveling in the direction of the hall, but she was standing out of sight. "Well, not so much revealin', because I'm not showin' a ton of skin, it's just a lot sexier than my other dresses is all. And I'm not sure it's appropriate." She sounded nervous._

_Sexier than her other dresses? Brenda was sexy in anything. She had the body of a 20 year old and everything she wore, no matter how modest, accented her figure. He had to see her._

_"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he said, trying to keep his voice even. He didn't want to sound like a drooling horny teenager, or she might go and change. "Come on, honey, it's a New Year's wedding, and I'm sure you look great. If it's not appropriate, I'll tell you, I promise." Yea right, he thought. What a load of crap._

_But she must have believed him, because she heard the sound of her heels on the hardwood floor as she entered the living room. And then…and then…all the oxygen was sucked from the room and if Fritz hadn't been sitting, he was sure he would have passed out cold. He was a mere mortal staring at Venus, and was struck too senseless to avert his gaze._

_The Dress was bright red. The red of candied apples and sports cars. Unapologetically red. It was, in fact, unapologetically everything. It was skin-tight, but in a form-fitting, body-conscious way, not in a cheap, Lycra, streetwalker way. It was ruched across the stomach and hips, breaking up the smooth second-skin appearance of the fabric. She was right that it didn't show much skin: it had capped sleeves, and the hem ended just above her knees. But oh, the curves that dress showed off: the dip of her tiny waist, the rise of her hip, the strong slopes of her ass, and her lower back that Fritz couldn't keep from touching,_

_And then there was the bust._

_He couldn't take his eyes off her chest. The neckline was cut somewhat low, stylish but not too revealing, and in the center of the top was an oval keyhole cut into the fabric which revealed the swells of her breasts. It showed enough to tease and tantalize, and with the rest of the fabric stretched unselfconsciously over Brenda's generous bosom, that revelation of flesh was a preview to the beautiful body that was guaranteed below. Brenda had pulled most of her long blonde hair back in a large gold and diamond barrette, with perfectly formed ringlets curling around her face. Her makeup was a bit heavier than usual, smoky and sensual, and the red lipstick matched the dress perfectly. Black high heel strappies completed the look. _

_Fritz felt his cock grow rock-hard and was sure Brenda saw it too, and he knew he should do or say something besides just staring at her rack open-mouthed. But he couldn't take his eyes off of her; hell, he could hardly look away from her bustline to admire the curve of her thighs and the narrowness of her waist before he went back to staring at the magic keyhole again. Brenda cleared her throat, and he finally forced his eyes to meet hers._

_She actually looked worried._ She looks hotter than any movie star in Hollywood and she's actually worried? _"Too much?" she asked, looking at him. "I can tell you like it and all, but to wear it out…"_

_"Oh no, no, no, Brenda, it's perfect. No one would think it's too much, or…not enough…or whatever you're worried about. You just look…my god, I can't even think of a word for it. Beautiful. Amazing. Amazingly beautiful. Please, don't change, honey. I want to walk into that wedding with you on my arm wearing that dress. Because the dress isn't inappropriate at all. It's just that, wow, you are stacked!'_

_She laughed then, tilted her head back and laughed, the kind of belly laugh he heard too seldom from her. He knew he had convinced her. He got to his feet and took her in his arms, his wandering hands drifting on their own volition to cop a feel through the thin fabric. "We can be a little late you know," he whispered in her ear._

_She laughed again and pulled out of his embrace, swatting his arm. "No, we can't be late for a weddin'," she said. "Besides, you were the one countin' down the time. Now that you have determined I am fit to be seen by your colleagues, let's get out of here." She turned around and walked toward the door. Fritz followed slowly behind, admiring the movement of her bum and thighs in the tight dress. _I can hardly wait to get her back home and make love to her_, he thought, sighing, all of a sudden wishing this wedding wasn't happening._

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><p><em>The wedding was in a small ballroom in the hotel which was decorated with white flowers and balloons to look at once bridal and festive. Not to Fritz's surprise, Brenda got several appreciative looks from male guests when all the attention should have been focused on the bride. After the simple ceremony, the hundred-plus crowd went to a larger ballroom next door for cocktails, dancing, and dinner. <em>

_Fritz loved showing Brenda off. She was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever dated, and he loved to be out with her, away from the LAPD where she had imposed very strict rules about touching. He was free to hold her hand, put his arms around her, just to let the world know he was with this stunning woman. _She's mine_, the primitive caveman part of his brain thought. Besides her looks, Fritz was proud to have Brenda on his arm for who she was; he was married to the Deputy Chief of Major Crimes of the LAPD, for god's sake. He, Fritz Howard, recovering alcoholic, was married to one of the most successful women in LA. And even though he had been teased at work for years for being whipped by the Queen Bitch of the LAPD, Fritz always introduced her to his colleagues with a note of pride in his voice. He took a strange satisfaction in knowing Brenda wasn't intimidated by anyone and didn't hesitate to make someone's life very difficult if she didn't get what she wanted. Her persistence and strength were some of the qualities he loved about her. Although they made him want to strangle her sometimes._

_Being with Brenda looking sexier than she ever had wearing The Dress, sitting at a table with his best friend Jerry, it being New Year's Eve, and feeling the contagion of happiness that is pervasive at weddings…Fritz couldn't stop smiling. And he couldn't stop his body from reacting every time he got close to Brenda. She was a very good dancer, and liked the band at the reception, and Fritz was more than happy to hold her and dance as long as she wanted. But each time he looked at her, or held her, he instantly got turned on. Brenda giggled and told him to calm down, but he couldn't control it. He tried to think about boring things when she was pressed up against him dancing slowly, every inch of her beautiful body painted in red, looking like a siren…but it never worked. Since he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his colleagues, Brenda acted as a human shield so he could get to the table and hide his excitement from the world. His excitement would recede, but then he would look at Brenda and she would smile her best sexy smile, or reach for his hand to drag him out to the dance floor again, and he would spring back to life._

_After dinner, they were dancing a particularly long slow dance and Fritz felt a familiar ache when he buried his nose in Brenda's neck and caught a whiff of her perfume. Instead of moving away, Brenda pushed herself up against him. "Brenda!" he hissed. She looked up and him and smiled. She was so soft and small and damn, the fabric of that dress was so thin he could feel her body heat. She looked up at him, winked, and then pulled out of his surprised arms. He stood on the dance floor, no human shield, quite aroused. "Come back here!" he whispered loudly, feeling self-conscious. Brenda stuck out her lower lip, looking for all the world like a naughty child, and said, "it's dark, honey, and I have to use the Ladies' room." With that she twirled around, giving him a 360 degree view of her, and slipped off the dance floor. It was dark, thank goodness, and Fritz was able to make it back to the table without anyone giving him strange looks._

_He was sitting down ten minutes later, eating a piece of wedding cake and talking to Jerry, when his phone buzzed. It was a text message from Brenda: "I am going to call you in two minutes. Pretend it's the LAPD. And tell people I had to take a call if they ask where I am." He kept his face neutral because he knew Jerry and his wife, Toni, were watching him, plus there were four other guests at the table. What was Brenda playing at, and where the hell was she?_

_"Who's texting you on New Year's Eve, Fritz?" Toni asked. "And where did Brenda go?"_

_"Oh, it's just a Tweet," he lied smoothly. "I have it set that some of my Tweets come through as texts. And Brenda got a call from the LAPD. She stepped outside to talk." _ I'm becoming as good a liar as her_, he thought._

_A couple of minutes passed and his phone rang. Turning slightly away from Jerry so he couldn't see Brenda's name on the Caller ID, he answered, "Special Agent Fritz Howard."_

_"Alright Special Agent Fritz Howard, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Now pretend you are talking to someone at the LAPD in an official capacity, but walk out of the ballroom as you do so, and take a right."_

_"Well, Sergeant, I realize that it's my job as FBI liaison to handle these things, but I'm not sure why you are asking me to do this," he said in his formal voice, waving a hand at Jerry and pointing to the phone and then to the door, indicating he had to leave. Fritz followed Brenda's instructions, having no idea what she was up to._

_"Keep walking down the hall and pass the bathrooms. Just keep goin', almost all the way to the end of that long corridor."_

_"Sergeant, I still am unclear why these instructions are being handed to me," he replied, keeping up the charade while following her orders. He walked past the bathrooms, expecting to see her in the hallway, but it was empty._

_"And I am very confused by the entire thing, Sergeant," he said, with a note of irritation in his voice._

_"All will be revealed," she whispered on the other end. He was almost at the end of the long hallway when he noticed one of the double doors was slightly ajar. He jumped when it opened further, and Brenda stuck out her head. _

_"You scared me!" he accused her, wondering what she was doing lurking in the hotel hallway. She put a finger to her bright red lips and opened the door wide enough to let him in, looking around to make sure no one had seen them. She pulled Fritz into the unlit room, which was, as far as Fritz could tell, a ballroom similar to the one they were in. Brenda quickly pulled the door shut behind him,_

_"Careful," she whispered, as she led him further back into the dark expanse of the room. She ran into a table or two, cursing softly, but guided Fritz safely around all obstacles. Whenever he started to ask her questions about what she was doing, she just said, "hush!" and continued to maneuver around tables and chairs in the semi-darkness._

_Finally they got to the back of the ballroom to a small nook that led to a locked kitchen area. There was a lighted "Exit" sign which illuminated Brenda. She grabbed a chair, put it against the wall under the sign, and told Fritz to sit. _

_"No, not until you tell me what you are doing, Brenda. What's up?" He was growing impatient with her games._

_"I'd rather show you," she said softly, and his heart sped up. Oh. So that is what this is about. _

_She pressed herself up against him and took her small hand and placed it on his lower abdomen, and his body instantly jumped to life. Fritz groaned, and without thinking, bent down to kiss her. She pulled away, but left her hand where it was._

_"If you kiss me, honey, my red lipstick will get all over you, and everyone is gonna know what we've been doin'. I hate to sound like a hooker, but please, no kissin'."_

_"And what exactly are we doing?" Despite where her hand was, reality was creeping back. "Brenda, we can't fool around in here, we might get caught by a security guard or someone else. I work with these people, I don't want…" he was cut off by a small hand placed over his mouth.  
><em>

_"Oh, will you just be quiet, you killjoy! No one is gonna interrupt us in this empty room. Even if they did, they can't see us in the dark. And no clothin' is gonna be removed, because this is about you and that arousal of yours that doesn't want to go away. We've got hours before we can go home and do somethin' proper about it, so I'm offerin' you some help now. And I know for a fact you are quite fond of this, uh, form of relief."_

_Good god. She was going to pleasure him right now. During a wedding. With work people around. Wearing The Dress. Holy crap. _

_She took her hand off his mouth and led him to the chair, where she encouraged him to sit. He knew that when Brenda was this single-minded about something, resistance was futile. Plus, he was about to get some action, so who was he to argue? Brenda placed her hands on both his knees and, leaning into him, kneeled in front of him. _Holy crap,_ he thought,_ I'm gonna explode right now_. He looked down at the sexy keyhole in her dress and saw, thanks to the ambient lighting of the Exit sign, her soft white skin. He looked at Brenda and she had a frown of concentration on her face. She was a woman who took sex seriously. _

_He reached to run his hands through her hair. "No," she said. "You can't mess up my hair, or it will be like you wearin' my lipstick. Sorry honey, no touchin.' But I know how much you like to watch, and that's why I'm doin' this under the Exit sign." _

_Fritz watched. And it was incredible._

_..._

_Afterwards he tugged Brenda onto his lap._

_"Hey, no time for cuddles," she said, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. "People are gonna get suspicious."_

_"Let them," he said. "That was just amazing, Brenda. Wow."_

_"I could tell," she smiled. "And maybe now we can dance without you gettin' all excited." She pulled out of his arms and stood up._

_"I don't know," he said, his voice rough. "You are so damn hot in that dress, I feel like I'm 18 again. Just you wait until I get you home, Brenda. You won't know what hit you." He reached up and took a finger and traced it along the inside of the oval, touching Brenda's warm skin. She gasped._

_"Oh, I'm countin' on it," she said. She took his hand and pulled it away. "But for now, we have to get back. Let me go first, since I've been gone the longest. I'm gonna stop by the bathroom and make sure I look OK, then go to the table and say I got called about a case. Give me about five minutes for a headstart, OK? Then you stop by the bathroom and check yourself out, and come in and bitch about how the LAPD can't do anythin' right and have to be buggin' you about some stupid case on New Year's Eve. Maybe we could even fight about it for a minute."_

_"That wouldn't be too much of a stretch," he said, reaching out and cupping her bum. She stuck her tongue out at him and said, "five minutes. See you back at the table. Love you." And before he could say anything else, she was making her way through the dark room toward the door._

_Fritz waited the requisite amount of time, every second of which he needed to recover, and headed through the maze of tables to the door, bumping in to a few tables but too happy to care. Finally he was out of the room and, as Brenda had done when she pulled him in, he checked to see if he was alone in the hallway. Coast was clear. He ducked into the bathroom and splashed his flushed face with cold water. He smoothed his hair, mussed from Brenda's affectionate ruffling, and straightened his tie. Another man came in and Fritz recognized him as the father of the bride. The older man stationed himself at one of the urinals, and Fritz took the other. He was looking straight ahead as he readied himself to pee, thinking about what Brenda had just done to him, when he heard the other man clear his throat. Fritz looked over and saw that the father of the bride was staring at him, which was a big faux pas in a men's room. Fritz felt a flush of anger and looked down at himself to see just what the man was staring at._

_And he froze. He was covered in red lipstick. _

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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, follow, and favorite this crazy little story. I really, really appreciate it, and keep it up! And to Guests who have left nice reviews, I wish I could PM you and thank you in person. I can't, so I"m thanking you here.

And speaking of thanks...LadyFey, my editor and friend, I owe you so much.

Regarding what some might consider the OOC nature of this story: I'm having fun playing with the "what if's"of certain aspects of Brenda and Fritz's characters. Don't let that worry you. If you have read any of my stuff, you know I always have a happy ending-but I really make Brenda and Fritz work for it, often slogging through a lot of angst before they get to the good stuff (see my story "Five Days in he Life of Cupid" as a perfect example of this). So don't worry about it. Everything is going to work out fine...after I have a little more fun with them.

Flashbacks are in italics.

**There is an M-rated version of this story posted on this site.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

_Back to present day in the Murder Room…_

Fritz was jerked back into the present by deliberately heavy footsteps which usually heralded the arrival of the self-important. Brenda paused her briefing as Captain Taylor and Will Pope made their way through the maze of desks to the front of the room. As usual, neither one of them acknowledged his presence.

"Sorry we're late," Pope said, waving a blasé hand, not looking sorry at all. "We've got a big investigation in Robbery/Homicide we had to review. Chief Johnson, can you catch me up on what you have discovered so far on this case? And has the FBI been of any assistance so far?"

Fritz opened his mouth to protest Will's assumption that the FBI was an impediment when he noticed what Brenda was doing. She put down the Dry Erase marker and pulled her hair to one side. She moved her hands to her midriff, and started unbuttoning…_no_. She was not going to take off the blazer. She was not going to let Will Pope see her in the full glory of The Dress. She wouldn't do that to him, would she?

She took off the blazer.

She muttered something about it being hot, and slung it over a nearby chair. When she turned back to face the squad, Pope, Taylor, and Fritz, he could practically feel the blood being drained from the men's' brains and into their nether regions. The rise in testosterone was tangible in the atmosphere.

Of all people, it was Gabriel was the first one to make a comment. He whistled soft and low, and Fritz had to clench his fists to stop himself from going over to his desk and punching him. "Whoa Chief," he said slowly, "what a dress. You going out tonight or what?"

She smiled, her evil little smile Fritz knew so well. "I do believe so," she murmured.

_She's going out tonight? With whom?_ Now Fritz was tapping into his own jealousy. What was she playing at?

Brenda turned around again and began to write on the board as she presented recent evidence, but Fritz could tell was no one in the Murder room was paying attention. He didn't want to do it, he didn't want to know, but he couldn't stop himself. He looked over at Will Pope. Sure enough, Will's eyes were focused nowhere near the pictures of the victim or on the words Brenda was writing on the white board. They were glued to Brenda's ass. Will didn't have the decency to even try and pretend he wasn't checking Brenda out. _I want to shoot him_, Fritz thought. _I wonder if I can shoot him. Would I get off? Would the jury accept the "he stared at my wife's ass" defense? I'm really, really close to finding out._

Fritz had to give Taylor a little credit. He was trying to look somewhere, anywhere, but at Brenda. He stared at the crime scene photos for awhile, then at Provenza's bobblehead, then at the floor. Fritz thought his reluctance to give into his basic male instinct and check her out was because Taylor didn't want to find anything, even a delicious thigh or a great rack, about Brenda he would have to like.

After an indeterminable amount of time where every second felt like an awkward, anger-soaked hour, the briefing was over, and Pope declared that the matter could wait until morning. He was late for his son's baseball game, he groused, and Major Crimes had racked up too much overtime. "Wrap it up, everybody," he said impatiently, finally tearing his eyes away from Brenda. Fritz could have been imagining things, but when Pope glanced his way, he was sure he saw a glint of jealousy in his eyes. It was the only thing that day that made him remotely happy.

Brenda flounced to her office, ignoring Fritz and practically shutting the door in his face. He took a deep, calming breath before walking in, not wanting to make a scene in front of her squad. Brenda didn't look up from the compact she was squinting at as she reapplied a heavy coat of red lipstick. After combing her unruly blonde hair with her fingers, she put her cosmetics away in her oversized purse and shut down her computer, all the while acting as if Fritz was invisible.

"Are you done torturing me for the day, Brenda?" Fritz said, giving up hope of being acknowledged.

Brenda looked him like he was a specimen of something unpleasant Dr. Morales pulled from a dead body. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," she said coolly.

"Come on, Brenda, you made your point," Fritz said, a bit too sharply. _Remember, in her mind, you are still in the doghouse_. He knew he had to control his temper and grovel a little to get things back on track. He softened his voice. "Listen, I know I was a jackass last night, and I'm really sorry. Let's just go home and spend a quiet evening together, okay? I'll cook whatever you want for dinner." There, that should be sufficient. His ire tasted thick and bitter in his mouth, but he had no choice but to choke on it. If he let loose with his own tirade, who knows how long this fight would last. He was used to swallowing his own feelings for the sake of peace.

Brenda slung her black bag over her purse. "No, don't think so, Fritz." The chilly tone of her voice told Fritz she wasn't done torturing him yet.

He was losing the battle with his temper. "Give me a break. You punished me enough."

"Not punishin' you, Fritz. I'm goin' out is all, and you aren't invited." She fished her car keys out of her purse and headed toward the door.

Fritz was glad Pope announced that he was rushing to his kid's baseball game, or he would be suspicious Brenda was spending the evening with him out of spite. "Going out where, Brenda? With whom? And may I remind you I don't have my car, and so far I've paid almost $100 in taxis in the past 24 hours because you've been mad at me. This has gone far enough." Brenda moved reached out to open her office door, and Fritz reflexively grabbed her arm to stop her.

Brenda looked down at Fritz's hand on her in an exaggerated manner and then glared at him, rage curling like smoke around her face. "I suggest," she said, in a forced calm metal-cold voice, "that you remove your hand before I do it for you, because I just might accidently break a few fingers in the process." Ice crystals formed in his blood from her tone, and he quickly moved out of her way. "And may I remind you, Fritz, that I might be your wife, but I am not your property. I will go anywhere I damn well please. I don't owe you any explanations. " She yanked her office door open. "Why don't you go back to the restaurant and see if you can find that sleazy redhead you were so fascinated by last night. Maybe she can give you a ride home." And with that, Brenda was gone, the clicking of her high heels like exclamation points to her harsh words.

Fritz slumped into a chair, frustration and fury competing for dominance in his head, both given an run for their money by self-recrimination. _I'm such an idiot. I drool over another woman in front of her last night, and then I go all caveman over her tonight. I did everything to guarantee Brenda would pull one of her stunts. Crap. _He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to clear his mind and think, trying to chase away images of crystal blue eyes and red hair and tight red dresses and soft curves of beautiful women. _Think, Howard, think, where would Brenda go to make you jealous?_ He knitted his brow together. Brenda wasn't big on going out on her own, nor did she have a cadre of girlfriends she went out with either. Maybe she was just going to go grocery shopping in The Dress. Only she never grocery shopped either. Brenda was a creature of habit, so what did that mean? Fritz smiled when realization hit him. _Of course. _

One of Brenda's favorite places to go, when the two of them were celebrating the close of a big case or Brenda was just in the mood to feel a little spoiled, was the Gallery Bar at the Biltmore. The Gallery Bar had a relaxing elegance sorely lacking in loud, brightly decorated, trendy lounges in LA. Fritz enjoyed watching his beautiful wife sip a cocktail or two in a setting worthy of a vintage Hollywood actress, then treating her to dinner at one of the hotel's nice restaurants. If he were a betting man, he'd put down his inheritance that this is where Brenda was headed.

But how was he going to get there? He was damn tired of paying taxi fare.

Fritz pulled out his iPhone and opened Google Maps and found out that The Biltmore was two and a half miles away. He stood up and sighed. He didn't go running that morning, so he needed the exercise anyways. He figured that he could walk the distance in about an hour. How much trouble could Brenda get into on an hour, anyways?

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><p>The evening was warm and welcoming, and it felt good to be outside and breathing the spring air after a day seeped with frustration. With each block he felt a little bit of the day's tension retract it's claws and release him, and the muscles of his back slowly relaxed with each city block he walked. <em>Enjoy it now<em>, Fritz thought. _Round two is coming up_.

He looked at the couples passing him by, dressed up for Friday night and ready to enjoy LA's active night life. The women wore short dresses and high heels, and the handsome men with them were attentive to their lovely dates, hands on the small of their backs or arms draped around delicate shoulders. Fritz felt a stab of jealousy. If Brenda weren't so mad at him, they could be spending their evening going out somewhere fun, smiling and happy and in love like the couples he shared the sidewalk with.

He loved going out with Brenda, and treasured the evenings that were uninterrupted by a phone call that dragged her out to a crime scene. He smiled to himself as the memory of his birthday six months prior floated through his mind. To pass the time on his long walk, he replayed the details of the evening over and over, enjoying the really good parts in slow motion:

_Brenda saved The Dress for special occasions, saying it wouldn't be so attractive to him if she wore it all the time. He disagreed—she could wear it every single day and he wouldn't even begin to get tired of staring at her curves in it—but he took what he could get. When his birthday rolled around, he pled his case that he deserved to see Brenda in The Dress for his present, and Brenda agreed. Her parents had just left after a 10 day visit, and, since she didn't like to make love when they were in the house, Brenda was sexually revved and in a playful mood. She had bought red shoes to match the dress, and the diamond pendant Fritz gave her the previous Christmas drew the eye toward that adorable keyhole and the hint of bosom he couldn't wait to get his hands all over. She was just adorable, and seeing her looking so delicious, and knowing that she was as hot for him as she was for her, he knew he was in for some wonderful birthday presents._

_She was a vixen that night. She flirted nonstop, and took every opportunity to get him going. She was constantly running her foot up Fritz's ankle during dinner when she thought no one was looking. Every bite of food was used as a reminder of her formidable skills in the bedroom. Fritz almost had a heart attack when dessert came and, rather unladylike, she picked up the cannoli and treated it in the most unladylike manner, closing her eyes in ecstasy and saying "mmmm" while she placed the defiled dessert back on the plate. He just stared at her, mouth agape, as she opened her eyes and stared at him. "What's wrong, Fritz?" she said innocently. "Don't you like your dessert?" She then smiled at him sweetly and, being the lady she was, picked up her dessert fork and broke off a small piece of the cannoli and raised it to her bright red lips, licking them delicately, like a kitten, after she was done chewing. Fritz was sure he was going to melt into a puddle. _

_Waiting for the valet, Brenda pressed him against the wall, kissing him hard, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and nipping on it. "I can't wait to give you your birthday present," she whispered huskily. _

_"And I can't wait to make love to you in that dress," he answered, his body responding to her aggressiveness, wanting her so badly he wondered how he was going to be able to concentrate on the road safely. The valet cleared his throat and they separated, but Fritz used Brenda as a human shield to hide his arousal._

_Brenda didn't make getting home any easier. She kept running her hand up and down his thigh, coming dangerously close to where he wanted it the most but not quite getting there, never giving him any relief but just building him up more and more. "Brenda, you are killing me here," he groaned. _

_"You can handle it, tough FBI man," she answered with a smirk._

_When they finally made it home without getting into an accident, Brenda bolted from the car and was at the front door before Fritz had even undone his seatbelt. He reached her just as she had unlocked the door. She turned around, grabbed him by the tie, and dragged him into the duplex. She pushed him against the wall and smashed her body against his. Fritz could feel her hot body through the dress, and he was more than excited by her aggressiveness. He swooped down and captured her mouth in his, and a hot, wet battle of tongues ensued._

_Abruptly, she pulled back and stepped away from the wall, tilting her chin and giving him what Fritz thought of as her "sex kitten" look._

_"What?" he said, exasperated. He was turned on and he wasn't in the mood for games._

_"I know what you want," she said slowly, her Southern accent grown thicker with her arousal. "So why not be a man and take it?"_

_Challenging his manhood. Now she was getting to him. "And what it is that I want, Brenda?" he said, breathing, heavily._

_She leaned closer to him as if to whisper a secret, but never broke eye contact. "You love me in this dress. You can't take your eyes of my ass when I wear it, can you? You want to drag me into the bedroom and lose control. Let yourself go for once and take what you want. Be a caveman. I know you want to. So why don't you be a real man and do it." Brenda was panting too, and they both stared at each other for a second, sexual energy radiating off both of them._

_Then Fritz moved. He reached out and grabbed Brenda and pulled her close to him, again kissing her, forcing his tongue into her mouth, which she eagerly accepted. He had one hand on the back of her head and the other slid down her back and over her backside, which he squeezed with considerable force, and Brenda yelped from surprise. He took his hand off the back of her head, grabbed her other cheek, and lifted her off the ground, forcing her legs around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom while she sucked on his earlobe and breathed, "yeeeessss." He deposited her none to gently on the bed and said, "Is this what you want, Brenda?" as he leaned over her and slid his hands upwards underneath the dress along her silk stocking-clad thighs._

_"Question is, is this what you want, Birthday Boy? I don't think cavemen ask for permission. They just take what they want." Her voice was low and gravelly, dark and dangerous, and she had a feral edge about her that drove him wild._

_So he took. And Brenda took. The night was a blur of sweat and pleasure, dominance and surrender, demanding and offering, and the next morning when Fritz woke and saw The Dress crumpled on the floor begging to be taken to the Dry Cleaners, he felt so incredible was sure that his birthday night had magically made him five years younger._

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><p>A blister forming on Fritz's heel from walking so far in his new Oxfords pulled him out of his head and into reality, much to his displeasure. He looked around, unware how far he had walked, and was pleased to see that he was only a few blocks away from the Biltmore. He ducked into a drug store and bought a trial size package of bandages for his raw flesh and limped the last block to the hotel, the tranquility he felt from disappearing into a fantasy draining as fast as the weak sunlight from the evening sky.<p>

After ducking into the bathroom and fixing up his wounded foot, gently swearing to himself and vowing never to walk for an hour wearing anything but Asics, he went to the side of the hotel with the bar. _If I'm wrong about this, I'm going to be really mad at myself,_ he thought. _Stranded at the Biltmore with no Brenda and no car, what a fun Friday night. _His days of spending hours in bars by himself were long gone, and he didn't relish the idea of reliving that part of his past.

The Gallery bar was dark, and it took Fritz's eyes a few minutes to adjust. It was moderately crowded for a Friday night, but then again, it was on the early side for the truly hip to have started their evenings. After scanning the plush seats scattered throughout, he finally spotted Brenda at the bar, perched on a stool at the end farthest from him. He started over toward her then stopped when he saw she was talking to someone.

A man, probably ten years Brenda's junior, sat in the seat next to her, his body twisted in his seat and facing Brenda, who was turned slightly toward him, her legs crossed and showing quite a bit a thigh. A loud, insincere laugh from her and the man she was talking to smiled as if god himself had come down and blessed him. He reached out and, just for a split second, touched Brenda on the exposed flesh of her knee.

And Fritz, rooted in one spot near the entrance of the bar, his pulse racing, saw red.

**End Chapter 3**

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	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! Please keep 'em coming!**

**Mucho gracias to LadyFey's hard work on editing my messy writing. She is an angel.**

**Little Red Dress Chapter 4**

Fritz's face felt hot, a slow burn that started in his belly and spread through his entire body down to his fingertips, his pulse racing like he had just finished a sprint. The adrenaline coursing through his veins put his senses on hyperdrive, and his focus bore down on the stranger's filthy hand touching the creamy skin of Brenda's exposed thigh. The contact lasted just a couple of seconds, but it was more than enough for Fritz. He looked at Brenda's face and took a crumb of solace in the fleeting look of disdain that flitted over her features.

It was all he could do to stop himself from lunging at the man who dared to lay his hands on his wife, but he knew it would make a messy situation even worse. Brenda was in charge of this revenge scenario, and he had to have faith that she wouldn't let things go too far. Fritz had to give her the trust she was refusing him, no matter how difficult. That being said, though, there was no way he was going to stay hidden in the shadows while his wife flirted with another man. Fritz took a deep breath and pulled his shoulders back, trying to adopt the countenance of someone more serene than he, and he walked to the bar, his eyes never leaving Brenda. He pulled out a stool at the very end of the grand, dark cherry bar where it curved and met the wall, so that he was cattycorner from Brenda, but the strange man's back was to him. He had to hand it to Brenda: it must have been her CIA training, but she barely reacted when he walked past her and took a seat. If it wasn't for a subtle straightening of her back and tensing of her neck muscles, he would have thought that she was too enraptured with her suitor to notice him. As if to cover her tell, she intentionally turned her head toward the man and plastered on a fake smile to match her look of forced interest.

Fritz shot fire from his eyes into the back of The Jackass, as he thought of him, hitting on his wife, but to his dismay, the sandy-haired man didn't spontaneously combust. Instead, he prattled on to Brenda about nothing, but behind his meaningless words Fritz recognized the desperation of a man trying to get laid.

In addition to Brenda's obvious bad behavior aimed at getting back at Fritz, there was a whole other thing she was doing to twist the knife of revenge. The dress, the bar, the awkward conversation and growing sexual attraction between two people who just met…it could have been him and Brenda sitting there, playing The Game.

The Game started right after they got engaged. Brenda told him, half joking, that she wanted to make sure they didn't become one of those married couples who had boring and infrequent sex, so she had an idea for how to keep things fun. One of them would call the other, if at work, or send a text if not, and say, "I feel like playing." Perhaps a strategically placed note or a message written in lipstick on the bathroom mirror would deliver the invitation. A vague comment about a new restaurant or a spot in Griffith Park would come next, or a link to Google maps with a spot pinned arrived via e-mail with little or no conversation. Later on, when Fritz showed up at the location Brenda had hinted at, he'd settle in as if he were a single man out on his own. His wedding band would find a resting place in his pocket, and he'd scan the area for beautiful women, and he inevitably found a beautiful blonde. Brenda would walk right past him and sit by herself, a single woman out for the evening, no rings on her finger, saying nothing to him. In that moment, they were strangers. Eventually a conversation would start and they would introduce themselves; most of the time they used their real names, sometimes for reasons unknown, Brenda liked to use the name Sasha. They were an FBI agent and a Deputy Chief some evenings, other times they had different jobs and backstories, which they shared with each other through a growing attraction. The evening always ended with hot, one-night-stand sex, often in the car, sometimes elsewhere, or the duplex was claimed by one or the other as their apartment. . Brenda chose venues she discovered during a case, like the time they met in a restaurant where the chef's wife was recently murdered. Fritz tried to be a little more creative, and they "ran" into each other at parks, a beach, or his latest, the grocery store. Other singles shopping on a Friday night glared enviously as Fritz accidentally rammed into Brenda's cart, and a profuse apology turned into an hour-long conversation in Frozen Foods, which culminated in the two ditching their grocery carts altogether trotting out of the store holding hands and mumbling about whose apartment was closer. The Game was hot, it was wild, the juice from the forbidden fruit burst forth in their mouths and dribbled down their chins as they came together again and again as strangers.

Sitting at the bar, watching The Jackass try and charm his wife, he couldn't help but think part of her revenge was to sully their fun game by playing it for real with a stranger. Fritz had to take several more calming breaths to resist the urge to start yelling at Brenda and call her all kinds of things he'd regret. When he was under control again, he turned back in to make sure they weren't making plans to go into the hotel and screw .

"…are so damn beautiful. can't believe you aren't a movie star, sweetheart," The Jackass said, leaning in closer to Brenda.

_Sweetheart?_ Fritz thought. That should set Brenda off. Derogative terms like "honey" and "doll" always pushed her buttons. But except for a slight narrowing of her eyes, her expression remained the same. She took a sip of her wine and flicked her eyes in Fritz's direction.

"Why thank you, Eric—"

"Earl."

"Eric. But not every woman who lives in LA is a movie star." She tossed her long blonde hair and Fritz's stomach clenched.

"You're so lucky to get to live here, in this beautiful city. Indianapolis is so—blah compared to out here. And the women certainly don't look like you." Fritz could hear the idiot drool. Brenda mumbled something noncommittal and The Jackass dipped his head closer to hers. Fritz's palms itched, prepared to reach out and grab the interloper's hands if he went in for another illegal touch.

"…we got winters that just about do me in. And here, what with the ocean and all," the man sighed dramatically. "I would leave Indianapolis in a heartbeat if a job opportunity opened up. In fact, I think I'll chat up a few of the guys at the Mechanical Engineering Society conference I'm attending, to see if there are any positions available in this area. Could be a whole new world for me. Full of sunshine and beautiful ladies." His unctuous smile oozed across his face.

Before Brenda could answer, The Jackass continued, his voice slightly lowered so that Fritz had to strain to hear what he was saying. "The only thing I don't like about LA is all the gays. In Indiana, homos stay in the closet pretty much, or risk getting the shit beat out of them. But here, everywhere I look, some gay dude is sashaying around and checking out my butt. Must be hard for straight dudes to live around those freaks, who seem to think they have the same rights as everyone else." The Jackass picked up his drink and took a deep pull, but not before mumbling an offensive slur within earshot of the effeminate bartender.

A flush spread from Brenda's cleavage, up her neck, over her face, and to her hairline. Her petite hands were balled into fists and her eyes had grown that scary crow-black he saw when she was swooping down on a suspect. The bartender brought Fritz a seltzer and cranberry without him asking, and he nodded at him gratefully, feeling better than he had in hours. Someone besides himself was about to be torn to bits by Brenda, and he had a front row seat.

Brenda had opened up to Fritz about what it was like for Jimmy, her favorite brother, to grow up gay in the 1960's South. The neighborhood boys would corner Jimmy and beat him up until Brenda or her other brothers would rescue him, often getting hit themselves. Brenda would take her sobbing, bleeding brother and clean him up as best as possible, sometimes even using her makeup to cover up his bruises, so that her parents wouldn't know what was happening, because above all, Jimmy feared his parents' rejection. It made Brenda endlessly happy to see her brother grow up to a confident young, gay man who found a great community of friends, and a partner in New York City, but those dark days of her childhood were never far from her mind. She confessed to Fritz she was afraid someday the bullies would go too far and kill Jimmy, that she and her brothers wouldn't be able to find him and it would be their fault. Because of her childhood experiences, she had little tolerance for homophobia. One of the best things about California, she told Fritz, was that gay men and women weren't treated with the depth of derision and prejudice like they were in Atlanta.

Brenda picked up her wine glass with shaky hands, a frown between her brows. "So you mean to tell me, Eric—"

"Earl."

"Whatever. You are tellin' me that the presence of gay men would be the one thing that would keep you from movin' to California?" Brenda was in full interrogator mode, and it was as if she had grown six inches and towered over The Jackass. He noticed the change in her demeanor and scooted his stool back a few feet.

"Well, among other things. See, I'm a good Christian, and we don't believe in homosexuality. So yea, all these poufs rubbing our faces in it would be hard to live with. How do you put up with it? Maybe it's not so bad for women, you know, because they are helpful with fashion and stuff like that."

"Yea, gay men are around just to style our hair," Brenda said in a prickly tone. "Listen Earl, I think you should stay right in Indiana, along with your buddies over there—" she jerked her thumb over her shoulder—"Who are wagerin' bets about whether or not you're gonna get lucky with me tonight." Fritz looked in the direction Brenda gestured and saw a group of six or so men occupying a corner of the room who were whispering and pointing in Brenda's general direction, laughing and giving The Jackass, who was in their line of sight, a thumbs up.

The Jackass looked nervous, as his conquest was beginning to seem less certain. "Oh, those guys, honey, please ignore them, they're just jerks I met at the convention."

"They seem to have the same mentality as you do," she said. "And let me tell you something, you narrow-minded bigot. The last thing LA needs is a corn-fed Midwestern Christian boy to move here thinkin he's gonna get all the ass he wants when in truth he's too naïve to have ever left the farm. LA would chew you up and spit you out, I assure you." Brenda scooted as far back on her stool as possible. "So why don't you go back to your little friends over there and make plans to hunt down movie stars' houses or whatever nonsense tourists do in LA before takin' your hateful mind back to middle America to lead your little life."

The Jackass, stunned at first, started to get angry. "Listen, sweetheart, I don't need to take that from you. And I can sit wherever I want to. It's a free country. Furthermore—"

"Yup, it's a free country, and I choose not to talk to a small-brained homophobe any more. I think I'd like to spend the evenin' conversin' with someone with a little more class." To his surprise, she turned in her chair and looked directly at Fritz. "You there. You look pretty sophisticated. You wanna spend some time talkin' with me so this idiot will take the hint and leave me alone?"

The Jackass turned around in his seat, having no idea Fritz was even there. "What, is this what you do? You some kind of slut, going from man to man each night? Or are you a hooker? Is that it?" He stood up, as if to try and intimidate Brenda with his height.

Brenda glared up at the man. "No, not a hooker. If I were gettin' paid to put up with your company that would be one thing, but I'm not."

The bartender looked over at the trio with concern, and Fritz stood up quickly. To Brenda, he said, "Yes, yes, I'm both sophisticated and open-minded. And I'd love the chance to talk to you." _ I'm just an actor in your play, Brenda, reading whatever script you hand me._

The Jackass opened his mouth to protest, but Fritz took him by the arm and turned him slightly away from Brenda, while he pulled out his badge.

"Get your damn hands off of me," the Jackass hissed, trying to yank out of Fritz's grip. "I'll call the cops, I swear. What are you, her pimp? I'm gonna… ohhh." Fritz shoved his badge in Earl's face, which effectively shut him up.

"Here's what you're gonna do," Fritz said softly. "You are going to stop bothering this woman and you are going to return to your buddies, and all of you are going to leave. Go to another bar, I don't care. Just get out of here, or I'm going to make your life very difficult." The Jackass opened his mouth to speak, and Fritz cut him off. "No discussion. Get lost. Now." And he gave the man a small shove in the direction of his friends.

Earl quickly righted himself, took a second to smooth down his jacket, and started to walk toward his friends as instructed. When he was about ten feet away, Brenda called out to him.

He turned around reluctantly, glaring at her.

"Just thought I'd remind you, since you are such a good Christian and all, that you can put your weddin' ring back on now," she smirked, then drained her Merlot glass. As she gestured to the bartender for a refill, Fritz picked up his own drink and moved to take the seat vacated by The Jackass, who glowered at Brenda and continued his trot toward the door gesturing at his confused buddies to follow him.

Brenda gave a little laugh and shook her head, the red having drained from her face a bit.

"My, my, my, I sure know how to pick 'em," she said, looking at Fritz. "I truly hope you aren't an idiot too. I'm in the mood to get to know someone tonight." She cocked her head back and looked at him.

"You don't know me?" Fritz asked, his previous anger melting to amusement.

Brenda shook her head, her runaway curls flying this way and that. "Nope, don't think I've ever seen you 'round here before." She squinted at him. "I sure do think I'd remember a man who looks like you. What's your name?"

"Fritz," he answered, something in him that was coiled tight relaxing a tiny bit. "Fritz Howard."

"Interestin' name," Brenda mumbled and extended her hand. Fritz noticed her wedding rings were missing too. "My name is Brenda." Her grip was firm and confident. "It's very nice to meet you, Fritz Howard. Buy me a drink?"

**End Chap 4**

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